by Dani Wade
“As serious as possible.” She needed to understand the gravity of the situation.
“I’m sorry, Tate. I can’t.”
He didn’t get mad, didn’t rage. But she’d soon learn he could be as stubborn as her.
The emotions inside him urged him forward, deliberate steps that carried him closer until he loomed over her. “Then you will stay here until you see why this is necessary. Because the Kingston family ends with me.”
Eight
Unease over the whole situation stalked Willow, leaving her to toss and turn in her bed the entire night while she tried to think through her options. Morning did not find her happy or any closer to a decision. Tate’s stoic, almost silent pressure didn’t help.
After his declaration, she’d expected him to badger her into doing what he wanted ASAP. Instead he’d rarely said a word to her today. He simply watched her, but that pointed gaze spoke everything he wouldn’t say out loud.
If he’d known anything about her—which she was starting to doubt—she was a woman with a need to know. She liked facts, history and knowledge for its own sake. If Tate thought she was swallowing a pill without any other information, he was sadly mistaken. She simply wasn’t sure how to tell him this. The reasons were pretty private. And though she’d shared her body with him, Tate’s arm’s-length attitude didn’t encourage her to share her thoughts.
Dates had been few and far between for Willow. She was a little too bookish for most men, or so she gathered. At least compared with the party-hearty college students she was surrounded by on a daily basis.
Few dates meant even fewer sexual partners, which was why she’d never bothered taking a birth control pill. Why mess with Mother Nature if she wasn’t bothering anyone?
Willow had always insisted on a condom before because she was practical, after all. The fact that she’d never even thought about it with Tate left her deeply dismayed. What had happened between them was different, far more explosive than she’d ever experienced with the few other men she’d allowed that close.
Considering their current stalemate, she couldn’t believe that part of her wanted to repeat the experience. But the fiercely passionate and possessive Tate had been so much more dynamic than the one staring balefully at her across the kitchen island the next morning. Or should she call it the scene of the crime? She’d never see this kitchen quite the same again.
Not that she would be seeing it again. Not if she had anything to say about it.
“I’m not arguing with you. You’re not leaving.”
She glanced over at the suitcase she’d brought down from her room. “Tate, I think it’s for the best. This is...uncomfortable.”
“It won’t be forever.”
His brutal disregard made her temper flare and face flush, but she clenched her fist to regain control. “I won’t be bullied, Tate.”
“Honey, if I was a bully, this conversation wouldn’t be nearly this civil. It really wouldn’t be a conversation at all. Instead, I’m simply demanding you stay until we’ve come to a mutually agreed upon conclusion.”
Though the words sounded conciliatory, Willow had a feeling he still meant his way or else. Why, oh why, had she let herself be put in this position?
He stepped closer, bracing his hands on the island. She wouldn’t think about what had happened on it just yesterday. Or how good it had felt to have him inside her. Since she now had to live with this churning chaos in her gut that wouldn’t give her the answer that would fix everything.
“This is not a family you want to bring children into, Willow,” he insisted, as if that were the only issue on the table. “My ancestors laughed while they ruined their competitors in business, took women they wanted without thought or permission, cheated their employees out of their wages. Hell—my parents weren’t above using those same psycho games with their own children—pitting us against each other until one of us was dead. Not that they noticed he was gone.”
Willow watched Tate wide-eyed, her attention snagged by the return of real emotions to his expression. She almost gasped from the intensity of his words and the anguish on his face. How did he live every day with all of that hidden behind his usual tightly controlled facade?
She was beginning to realize that was exactly what it was—just a facade.
“How did he die?” she whispered. For some reason, it was important for her to know. As if the answer was a key that would unlock the puzzle before her.
Tate’s gaze flicked behind her to the window in the breakfast nook. For a moment she thought he would avoid answering her. Then she realized he was giving her a clue as he said, “In the same water you so innocently waded into yesterday.”
Willow’s chest tightened, cutting off her breath for a moment. She remembered dipping her toes into the cool, lapping waves. Heaven help her.
“We’d had an argument,” Tate continued, his voice low and intense. “Adam went swimming—alone—to blow off some steam. He never came back.”
His brother. His twin. How awful. She wanted to ask how it felt to lose someone who was literally the other half of you—but she didn’t dare. Tate shouldn’t have to relive the emotions, the pain. Though his expression told her he relived it more often than necessary.
His pain made her own heart hurt. She couldn’t stop herself from reaching over the island to cover his hand with her own. “I’m so sorry, Tate.”
His eyes widened for a moment, as if he didn’t know what to make of this simple offer of comfort. Or, heaven forbid, he had never been offered comfort before now. What kind of family left a young man to suffer the guilt of his twin’s death without trying to reassure him that it wasn’t his fault? That he didn’t make his twin go into the ocean alone, and certainly didn’t cause whatever had led to his drowning, no matter how angry he’d been at the moment.
As a child she’d spent many nights crying over the deaths of her parents, but she’d been surrounded by a family that cared about her, talked through these things with her and helped her process the tragedy. Obviously no one had ever done that with Tate.
Sounded like he knew his family pretty well when he warned her about them.
He’d bared his soul to her...or as close as she’d imagined he could come to it. She at least owed him an explanation. “I don’t just want to leave because of—”
She glanced down at the cool marble of the kitchen island. What should she say? Because we had sex? Because you want to force me to do what? Prevent further consequences? Her cheeks burned over all of those options, but she ignored her reaction. Maybe he would, too.
She noticed he’d dropped his dark, brooding gaze to the counter and his right index finger tapped heavily against the surface. Was he thinking the same things she was?
He didn’t make her wait to find out. “Do you think I can’t control myself? Is that why you want to leave? After yesterday’s display, that’s understandable. But I can keep my hands to myself—I assure you.”
Willow didn’t want him to, but that was a desire she would keep to herself. Instead, despite her embarrassment, she would suck it up and talk to him about her misgivings. She discussed difficult subjects with her students all the time...it was just easier because it wasn’t personal. Still...she could do this.
“Tate, do you realize you are demanding I do something to my body that I have no clue about?”
He cocked his head to the side and frowned. She was fascinated how his entire face was involved when he let down his guard—brows lowering, eyes narrowing, forehead wrinkling. She usually had to search for clues about his emotional state.
“It’s perfectly safe,” he said.
Willow took a deep breath, choosing her words carefully. “I’m sure it is, but I don’t know that—for certain. I’ve never looked into this—well, I’ve never needed to know before. But now I do.” When he continued to look at her with that conf
used frown, she shrugged. “How does it work? What are the side effects?”
“Doesn’t it come with all of that information?”
Was he really this dense? He looked genuinely perplexed, but she had to wonder. “Have you ever tried to read the inserts that come with medicine?” she challenged.
She could tell he hadn’t but wouldn’t admit it.
“Most of the words don’t make any sense...and I have multiple college degrees.”
“So, look it up.”
His stubborn nonchalance had her slapping her hands on her hips. “On what, exactly?”
Comprehension finally dawned. She could see it come over his face like a sunrise. Without warning, Tate left the room, leaving her to fume over his lack of realization that she’d been taken back to the 1980s, technology-wise. Yes, they lived in an age where the most common way to find out what she needed was to search the internet. But she hadn’t counted on being held captive in a house where the only computer was in his office—and thus, off-limits—and her Wi-Fi wouldn’t work.
For an author, he sure hadn’t thought this scenario through.
The sound of his footsteps allowed her to track his movements through the house. The tide was out for the day, muting the sound of rushing water that served as the soundtrack for everything here at Sabatini House. She lost track of him on the second floor, but heard the slam of his office door after a few moments.
It wasn’t long before he came back to the kitchen with a small stack of papers, which he’d obviously just printed from the computer. He held them out to her. “Here you go.”
She glanced down at the top page. The headline was about the medication followed by several paragraphs of text. Looked like she wasn’t the only one overly fond of research.
She stood there, staring down at the papers, and realized how awkward this entire situation was. But now that most everything was out in the open, she felt better. Then she thought about all that he’d told her in the last day. “I’m sorry, Tate,” she said, barely able to look up at him. “No one should ever have to grow up like that.”
His expression immediately closed down. “If it’s in my power, no one else will.”
* * *
A few days later, Willow very casually picked up her covered plate and book, then headed for the outer door.
“Where are you going?” Tate demanded.
His gruff tone made her want to jump, but she wasn’t about to give Tate an edge. She refused to meet his gaze—just shot a smile in his general direction.
“I’m eating my lunch.”
Then she confidently strode out the door. For the last several days, she’d silently insisted on returning to the beach to have her lunch every day. Tate never tried to stop her, but she could feel his gaze on her most of the time.
Some people would think she was simply torturing him, but Willow disagreed. From what she could gather, Tate had closed himself off from moving forward, based on his past. No more family. No more friends. No swimming, even though he was surrounded by the ocean. And no driving...though her suspicion that he feared going over the ocean bridge leading to the mainland was simply speculation at this point.
She wasn’t going to get in the water again. No way would she risk a repeat of her last little wade-in. And forcing him to see her in the water now seemed cruel. But there was no harm being on the sand. He needed to accept that and stop making demands and refusing to talk things out with her like adults.
Somehow she knew she could help Tate break free from the boundaries he’d let his past impose on him—but that meant she had to stay.
Of course, the tension was even higher now than when they’d had sex. And some tiny stubborn part of her refused to tell him she had finally taken the pill. But that was mostly his own fault. Once their last personal conversation was over, he’d retreated back behind the wall of cold professionalism. She knew it was for the best, but it didn’t ease any of the heartache she felt.
Her pride—and to an extent, the female part of her that still wanted to be more than just his employee—insisted he had to come to her if he wanted an update.
But all the hyperawareness and tiptoeing around did make dinner with her family tonight a welcome prospect.
By the time early evening came around, Tate didn’t stop her from leaving, but again she felt his watching her as she guided her little car down the drive. Her tension faded as she crossed the bridge to the mainland. When she arrived home, she was immediately comforted by the presence of her family. But she also found herself uneasy with all the secrets she was keeping from them.
“It’s so wonderful to have everyone back here,” Auntie said. “I miss having all of you under one roof.”
Jasmine grinned at her as she settled her daughter into her high chair. “You see us almost every day when I drop off Rosie.”
“And what am I? Chopped liver?” Ivy asked.
“It’s not the same, though,” Auntie said before she frowned at Ivy, who was the only one currently living at home, “and you spend all your time at work or in your room.”
Ivy’s creamy skin flushed when everyone looked her way. “I’m working a lot.”
Willow sympathized. “Your boss still out of town?”
Ivy gave a short, stiff nod, but kept silent. Willow made a note to catch up with her younger sister in private.
“How’s your job going?” Royce asked.
“Just fine,” Willow replied. Maybe too quickly. “A little boring actually.”
Jasmine narrowed her eyes, apparently not sold on Willow’s lie. “Is Mr. High and Mighty off his high horse yet?” she asked.
“I’m not sure that’s possible,” Willow answered, giving a silly smile.
Everyone laughed, as she’d planned, but Royce’s expression was serious when he added, “As long as you’re okay.”
She and Jasmine exchanged a look. It felt weird to have a man looking out for them, but in a nice way. “I’m good,” she assured them, ignoring the hitch in her voice. Maybe Jasmine would, too, but Willow doubted it.
Later, when Royce took Rosie to the other room to clean her up and change her, Ivy finally opened up. “I have to find a new job.”
“What?” Jasmine asked.
“Why?” Willow added at the same time.
Ivy’s gaze met theirs in turn, her big beautiful eyes filling with tears. “I’m pregnant.”
They each froze for a moment, shocked into silence. Then they all rushed from their various sides of the table to surround her, a wall of feminine comfort that would surely protect Ivy from the outside world.
Auntie was the first to offer a coherent question. “Honey, is that why you’ve been moping?”
Ivy grimaced. “That and I can’t handle the smell of, well, pretty much anything.” She glanced at the stove with its half-empty pots and pans.
All of them were aware of how this had come about, so there was no use asking silly questions like who the father was. Willow, sensitive from her own struggles with the man who was her employer, asked, “And he’s never said—”
Ivy shook her head. “Not a single word. Every phone conversation since he left has been strictly business. After the first two weeks, I was afraid to bring our...night together...up myself. Now, I’m petrified.”
For the first time, Willow was very grateful to Tate. She would not enjoy facing this. Their conversations might have been a strain and not gone in the direction she wanted, but she was glad they’d had at least that much.
“But you can’t just walk out,” Jasmine insisted. “You’re having his baby.”
Ivy’s look was a little wild-eyed. “Do you seriously think he’s up for this after a month and a half of silence? And what about his family? The McLemores are extremely close. There’s no way they would accept me.” She met each of their gazes in turn. “I’ve never talked abo
ut my family with him—for a reason.”
Jasmine and Willow eyed each other for a moment. Willow’s heart sank. Grudges lasted a long time in Savannah, especially within the upper classes. Sometimes over stupid, insignificant stuff. After all, rich people could afford to be a little eccentric.
But not this. Never this. Ivy’s boss belonged to the family that had run theirs out of town three generations ago. The McLemores. The fact that the Harden sisters’ last name was now different due to their grandmother’s marriage was the only thing that allowed Ivy to get her executive assistant job for the highly recognized Savannah shipping exec or allowed Jasmine to run an event planning business for Savannah’s elite.
No one could immediately connect them with the family wrongfully run out of town after the McLemores’ prize ship was torched, with their beloved son inside. But the McLemore family was still run by a matriarch who remembered those days all too well, and the Hardens had to be careful.
Being able to prove that their ancestors weren’t responsible for that horrible tragedy would have given them a measure of protection. Willow felt a twinge of guilt over how little progress she’d made in her mission. Her struggles with Tate had taken up her every waking thought lately. The truth about their past would have helped so much in Ivy’s current predicament.
Willow and Jasmine had advised Ivy not to take the job in the first place, but she had a deep desire to provide for herself after being taken care of by her sisters for so many years. It had been a huge promotion, and she’d excelled.
It had been well worth the risk—until now.
“You knew who he was. Why did you go home with him?” Jasmine moaned.
Ivy’s eyes filled with tears. “I love him.”
Willow was sure Jasmine’s heart melted just like hers.
“I know—it’s stupid and impractical. I thought, in hopelessly optimistic fashion, it would all work itself out.” Ivy buried her face in her hands. “I was so naive.”
They all were—to think they could mingle with Savannah’s elite and never have their past revealed. Jasmine hugged her sister, offering comfort, but Willow was formulating a plan. Her own recent experiences in mind, she asked first and foremost, “Do you want to keep it?”